Trash Talk
by Mishiko Shinsei
Summary: AU. YYxYB. A story about the big, green dumpster in the sky. Rated for language and content.


Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

**Trash talk**

Dragging himself from the warm, comfy bed, he heads into the bathroom to pee and shower. After a long, hot shower to soothe the ache in his muscles and other parts of his anatomy, courtesy of his lover and roommate, Bakura, he dries off and heads to the closet to find something to wear. Opening the doors to his walk-in fashion show, he is stunned to find nothing there. The closet is empty, save for his shoe rack and the shoeboxes which once housed his pairs of black and brown wingtips, his black and red leather Air Jordan's, his black, steel-toed combat boots and his black Timberland's. None of his tailored work suits or dress shirts. No silk ties on the tie rack. None of his form-fitting khakis are hanging in their usual spot. Not even one pair of jeans, or any of his form fitting shirts abound.

"Where are my clothes?" he mumbles to the prone form on the bed behind him.

An exaggerated sniff is his first response, followed by a fake whimper and a murmured, "They're gone, Pharaoh."

He turns to the psychotic man sitting casually on his sheets, ruthlessly suppressing his desire at the sight of the gorgeous nude form. That's how he got into this situation in the first place, following his libido. Had he not been thinking with the wrong head, again, the white-haired fiend would not have become his lover and roommate four months ago. Not that the sex wasn't the most fantastic he'd had since…well…ever, but Bakura's psychosis kept infringing on all attempts at any sort of normalcy in their lives.

Well as normal as the life of two reincarnated spirits could get.

Allowing his eyes to travel over the lightly tanned form before him, he remembers parts of the night before and shivers with delight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Is this how you like it, Pharaoh," the other moans, thrusting deeply from behind. It wasn't often that he topped and he'd thrown himself into the act, using every talent at his disposal to make sure the memory would be burned into that of the bronzed form beneath him.

He wraps his hand around his partner's arousal; teasing, pulling, working the appendage in time with his thrusts into the welcoming heat. An added nip at the sweat-slicked shoulder before him brings a desired moan from the kneeling body.

Realizing he's close, he slows his pace, letting go of Yami's arousal to prolong both their pleasure. He could do this forever. Fucking and being fucked by his Pharaoh never got old. Every night he is amazed that one of his strongest desires had come true. To have the powerful former spirit at his sexual beck and call aroused him at every turn.

Several times, his lover had shown up at the bike shop 'for lunch' and they'd snuck off for a quickie behind a rack of Harley's.

Not that he hasn't returned the favor several times himself. He still couldn't believe the time when they'd done it on the floor of his boss' office while his boss was out at a business lunch. Licking his lips at the memory of having the Pharaoh slip out of his tailored suit, throw Bakura's legs over his shoulders and take him hard and fast on the plush, white carpet, he renews his energetic pace, deciding that the next time it would be the Pharaoh's legs spread and shouldered and he'd take him on his bedroom floor.

"Yes!" his lover hisses, matching the slightly taller man's pace, moaning in pleasure as his arousal is grasped once more and teeth sink into his shoulder.

It doesn't take long for the end to come, his Pharaoh coming all over his hand and the tangled sheets, his erratic thrusts bringing him to climax a few minutes later. They collapse on the bed beside each other; panting so hard they can barely breathe.

Bakura remembers that the Pharaoh always wakes up shivering if they aren't covered, so he pulls the sheet up over them, wrapping his arms around his nearly passed out lover. They never cuddle. Theirs is a relationship of desire. Lust, not love.

That's why Bakura had to be sure his partner understood his place beside him, so he could continue to enjoy this mind-blowing sex until he got tired of it. Which of course wasn't likely to happen for a long, long time. If ever.

xxxxxxx

Opening his eyes, which he hadn't realized he'd closed while losing himself to the memory, Yami clears his head to deal with the problem at hand, his lack of clothing. And since he needed to be at work in the next hour, it's definitely cause for concern.

"I know they're gone," he breathes, not for the first time exasperated by the tomb robbers' tendency to annoy him just for fun. "Where are they?"

Another exaggerated sniff, this time accompanied by a louder whimper and a finger swiping at an imagined tear.

"They've flown away," he murmurs, chocolate eyes glistening.

"Flown away?"

"Yes," he sighs sadly. "To that big green dumpster in the sky."

'…big green dumpster…By Ra. He wouldn't dare…'

"You-you threw out my clothes," he starts incredulously.

The white-haired menace leans back on his hands with smirk.

"You're joking."

A slow shake of his head and that crazed little smile that usually got his blood boiling grace his lover's features.

"I told you not to talk to him," Bakura begins casually.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Yami bellows, honestly angry with Bakura for the first time since they acquired their new bodies almost two years ago.

Early on, they'd fought constantly, each attempting to snuff out the life of the other. At some point, the arguments turned arousing until the day Yami took Bakura in the men's room in Neiman's, a ridiculously expensive hand lotion which Bakura had filched serving as lubricant. For three months, they snuck around with each other, Yami usually meeting Bakura at his place late at night as he still lived with Yugi at the time. When Bakura's lease ran out, they decided to get a two-bedroom place together, allowing their friends to continue to believe they had a strictly friendly relationship. In reality, they just wanted to have sex more often.

"You heard me," Bakura drawls.

"Bakura…" he growls dangerously.

"At Yugi and Anzu's bar-b-que. You were talking to that arrogant prick when I'd told you not to!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Last week _

Bakura uses the ruse of 'helping Yami bring out the rest of the food' to get his lover alone in the kitchen.

"_I don't like the way he looks at you, Yami," Bakura states possessively. _

"_Who?"_

"_Kaiba."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_He looks at you like he wants to devour you. And only I am allowed that pleasure."_

"_You're crazy."_

"_I'm also right. Don't talk to him, Pharaoh. I mean it."_

"Right," he laughs, dismissing Bakura's insistence and misgivings with a wave before grabbing a covered dish and heading into Jii-chan's back yard.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"By Ra…Bakura, I can't believe you!" he grimaces, running his hands through his slightly damp hair to keep them away from his lover's throat.

The former tomb robber smiles in triumph.

"What am I supposed to wear to work?" Yami yells.

"I have clothes," Bakura replies in a bored voice, examining his fingernails.

Yami pauses a moment, seriously considering wearing a pair of his lover's leather pants into the office.

No, that's a bad idea. In addition to even more attention from those two women in the Law department who'd been following him around for months anyway, if he wore those pants, there's no doubt in his mind his boss' head would fly right off, if he didn't bleed to death first from the gushing out of his nose. If Bakura didn't like whatever look he thought he saw on Kaiba's face, he'd probably beat his boss to death if he ever saw the looks that lecher threw his way daily.

No, better to call in sick.

Which is what he does before pouncing on Bakura and pounding him into his bedroom floor.

He freely admits it. No matter how much he complains it's the psychosis that keeps him coming back for more.

Besides, he can always buy more clothes.


End file.
